I confessed to my boyfriend of six months that I sometimes jerk off to the thought of him having sex with another man—whether he’s giving a blowjob, getting fucked, or getting his arsehole rimmed. It doesn’t matter what he’s doing; I get off on it and end up creaming a thick load over my chest. He asked what I found so arousing, and I told him it’s the humiliation of watching him cheat on me with another man. I imagine myself jerking off while he worships another guy’s dick—someone more endowed than me. It feels like one blow after another, and that only makes me wetter and harder. He said the idea made him hard too, especially because there’s a guy he’s been wanting to have sex with. I told him I’d be willing to let him, as long as they let me sit nearby and jerk off over it. We even agreed to surprise the guy with the idea next time we’re all hanging out. The fantasy turned us both on so much that we spent the rest of the afternoon fucking and getting off over our new arrangement.
We invited the bull over to fuck my boyfriend that following Saturday. He was over six foot five, with curly brown hair, a pointy chin marked by a butt-crack dimple, dark brown eyes, and the unmistakable look of Mediterranean descent. He dressed like a basketball player—loose polyester shorts and a billowy basketball jersey—and moved with a confident, upbeat energy. He looked like he hit the gym nearly every day and carried a strong scent of either nuts or a fermented, sporty deodorant. I found myself gazing at his hairy legs, the curls bristling as he ran his hands over them, glistening slightly with sweat. My boyfriend told me the bull had a girlfriend, but word around was that he liked fooling around with his mates on the side. He admitted the bull had always turned him on—that he’d indulged in countless sexual fantasies about him while we were in bed together—and if we weren’t a couple, they’d probably be fucking regularly.
We sat in silence, watching the AFL play on the screen, but gradually the energy in the room began to shift—thick with tension, intense and unmistakably sexual. The air was pungent with the fermented scent of underarm sweat, and the heat radiating off our bodies was palpable. I had the feeling sex was on everyone’s mind. I couldn’t stop picturing my boyfriend going down on the bull. In my imagination, the bull had a seven-inch dick with a thick mushroom head, ridged and veined along the shaft, already glistening with a deluge of precum.
I caught my boyfriend placing his hand on the bull’s thigh, gently rubbing his leg. The bull seemed to enjoy it—he even closed his eyes, clearly getting off over something in his mind. Then, as if snapping out of it, he threw a glare in my direction and brushed my boyfriend’s hand away.
“He agreed to watch,” my boyfriend murmured.
“It needs to be discreet. Nobody mutters a word to anyone,” the bull said firmly.
We all nodded. The bull abruptly stood, exuding confidence and control. Ego oozed from him like the stench of alcohol after a night-long bender. Without hesitation, he stripped, tossing his clothes onto the floor. He stood there, his thick, erect seven-inch cock almost vertical, a pool of precum welling at the tip, ready to drip to the ground. Then he sat, slouched back in his chair, threw my boyfriend an impatient glare, and waited—expecting his dick to be sucked.
Suddenly, a rush of jealousy and inadequacy surged through my body. It was overwhelming, and for a moment, I regretted ever confessing my cuckold fantasy. A part of me feared that my boyfriend had chosen this bull because there was something deeper between them—something more than just lust. I hadn’t asked any questions, and I knew now wasn’t the time to probe whether his feelings ran deeper than skin. Still, I worried this decision might cost me my relationship. Possessiveness gripped me; I wanted to stop them before anything happened. But just as those feelings reached their peak, a wave of arousal crashed over me. I looked over and saw my boyfriend completely naked, a cushion beneath his knees, kneeling in front of the bull and gazing longingly into his eyes. I knew what that look meant. It wasn’t just his desire—it was ours. He was starving to satisfy this urge, and I was just as desperate to watch him do it.
My boyfriend took the bull’s dick into his mouth, and the bull murmured, “That’s a good boy.” My boyfriend moaned in response. I stripped off my clothes, but neither of them paid me any attention. I began jerking myself off, getting turned on by the look in my boyfriend’s eyes. I knew exactly what he was thinking—how big the bull’s dick was, how much strength and power it must have taken to face it. I heard him choke a little, and I could see just how much the bull’s cock towered over mine. Maybe that was part of why my boyfriend had chosen him. The bull closed his eyes and groaned in delight, and the only sound in the room was the wet, rhythmic slurping. It took everything in me not to blow my load right then and there—but I held back. I wanted to watch more. I wanted to come undone over every moment.
“Let me fuck you,” the bull croaked, throwing me a mocking glance.
My boyfriend sat back on the couch, scooted down, and lifted his legs, holding them in his arms. The bull ran his thumb over his arsehole, then gathered some of his precum and used it to slide a finger inside. My boyfriend moaned—half in delight, half in discomfort. Then the bull pushed into him, and they both let out deep, guttural moans. My emotions surged. The bull began fucking him hard, the sound of his balls slapping against my boyfriend’s backside filling the room. I could see my boyfriend stroking his own dick, lost in the overwhelming sensation.
“Your dick’s so much bigger than my boyfriend’s,” he cried out, breathless with ecstasy.
“Tell me you want it more than his,” the bull growled.
“Yes! Oh God, yes!” my boyfriend cried.
I barely cared what my boyfriend had said—I was too excited, too overwhelmed by what I was witnessing. The ecstasy was consuming. My dick throbbed with the urge to climax, the room thick with tension, heat, and the scent of sex. Then I heard the bull let out soft, guttural moans as he came inside my boyfriend. His moans sounded like sweet nirvana. I looked down at my boyfriend’s face—his eyes were tender, searching, almost pleading for someone to hold him through the moment. I was tempted to step in, but the bull seemed intent on riding out the waves of ecstasy without interruption. Moments later, my boyfriend came, hot spurts of semen splashing across his stomach. That was all it took—I couldn’t hold back any longer. I exploded, thick streams of cum painting my chest as I thought about the bull finishing inside him. The bull collapsed into my boyfriend’s arms, panting in exasperation. We were all left breathless, our chests heaving in concert, the room echoing with the fading sounds of satisfaction.
We invited the bull over to fuck my boyfriend that following Saturday. He was over six foot five, with curly brown hair, a pointy chin marked by a butt-crack dimple, dark brown eyes, and the unmistakable look of Mediterranean descent. He dressed like a basketball player—loose polyester shorts and a billowy basketball jersey—and moved with a confident, upbeat energy. He looked like he hit the gym nearly every day and carried a strong scent of either nuts or a fermented, sporty deodorant. I found myself gazing at his hairy legs, the curls bristling as he ran his hands over them, glistening slightly with sweat. My boyfriend told me the bull had a girlfriend, but word around was that he liked fooling around with his mates on the side. He admitted the bull had always turned him on—that he’d indulged in countless sexual fantasies about him while we were in bed together—and if we weren’t a couple, they’d probably be fucking regularly.
We sat in silence, watching the AFL play on the screen, but gradually the energy in the room began to shift—thick with tension, intense and unmistakably sexual. The air was pungent with the fermented scent of underarm sweat, and the heat radiating off our bodies was palpable. I had the feeling sex was on everyone’s mind. I couldn’t stop picturing my boyfriend going down on the bull. In my imagination, the bull had a seven-inch dick with a thick mushroom head, ridged and veined along the shaft, already glistening with a deluge of precum.
I caught my boyfriend placing his hand on the bull’s thigh, gently rubbing his leg. The bull seemed to enjoy it—he even closed his eyes, clearly getting off over something in his mind. Then, as if snapping out of it, he threw a glare in my direction and brushed my boyfriend’s hand away.
“He agreed to watch,” my boyfriend murmured.
“It needs to be discreet. Nobody mutters a word to anyone,” the bull said firmly.
We all nodded. The bull abruptly stood, exuding confidence and control. Ego oozed from him like the stench of alcohol after a night-long bender. Without hesitation, he stripped, tossing his clothes onto the floor. He stood there, his thick, erect seven-inch cock almost vertical, a pool of precum welling at the tip, ready to drip to the ground. Then he sat, slouched back in his chair, threw my boyfriend an impatient glare, and waited—expecting his dick to be sucked.
Suddenly, a rush of jealousy and inadequacy surged through my body. It was overwhelming, and for a moment, I regretted ever confessing my cuckold fantasy. A part of me feared that my boyfriend had chosen this bull because there was something deeper between them—something more than just lust. I hadn’t asked any questions, and I knew now wasn’t the time to probe whether his feelings ran deeper than skin. Still, I worried this decision might cost me my relationship. Possessiveness gripped me; I wanted to stop them before anything happened. But just as those feelings reached their peak, a wave of arousal crashed over me. I looked over and saw my boyfriend completely naked, a cushion beneath his knees, kneeling in front of the bull and gazing longingly into his eyes. I knew what that look meant. It wasn’t just his desire—it was ours. He was starving to satisfy this urge, and I was just as desperate to watch him do it.
My boyfriend took the bull’s dick into his mouth, and the bull murmured, “That’s a good boy.” My boyfriend moaned in response. I stripped off my clothes, but neither of them paid me any attention. I began jerking myself off, getting turned on by the look in my boyfriend’s eyes. I knew exactly what he was thinking—how big the bull’s dick was, how much strength and power it must have taken to face it. I heard him choke a little, and I could see just how much the bull’s cock towered over mine. Maybe that was part of why my boyfriend had chosen him. The bull closed his eyes and groaned in delight, and the only sound in the room was the wet, rhythmic slurping. It took everything in me not to blow my load right then and there—but I held back. I wanted to watch more. I wanted to come undone over every moment.
“Let me fuck you,” the bull croaked, throwing me a mocking glance.
My boyfriend sat back on the couch, scooted down, and lifted his legs, holding them in his arms. The bull ran his thumb over his arsehole, then gathered some of his precum and used it to slide a finger inside. My boyfriend moaned—half in delight, half in discomfort. Then the bull pushed into him, and they both let out deep, guttural moans. My emotions surged. The bull began fucking him hard, the sound of his balls slapping against my boyfriend’s backside filling the room. I could see my boyfriend stroking his own dick, lost in the overwhelming sensation.
“Your dick’s so much bigger than my boyfriend’s,” he cried out, breathless with ecstasy.
“Tell me you want it more than his,” the bull growled.
“Yes! Oh God, yes!” my boyfriend cried.
I barely cared what my boyfriend had said—I was too excited, too overwhelmed by what I was witnessing. The ecstasy was consuming. My dick throbbed with the urge to climax, the room thick with tension, heat, and the scent of sex. Then I heard the bull let out soft, guttural moans as he came inside my boyfriend. His moans sounded like sweet nirvana. I looked down at my boyfriend’s face—his eyes were tender, searching, almost pleading for someone to hold him through the moment. I was tempted to step in, but the bull seemed intent on riding out the waves of ecstasy without interruption. Moments later, my boyfriend came, hot spurts of semen splashing across his stomach. That was all it took—I couldn’t hold back any longer. I exploded, thick streams of cum painting my chest as I thought about the bull finishing inside him. The bull collapsed into my boyfriend’s arms, panting in exasperation. We were all left breathless, our chests heaving in concert, the room echoing with the fading sounds of satisfaction.
